


look at the light through the windowpane

by butforthegrace



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butforthegrace/pseuds/butforthegrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They steal these moments together, these increasingly rare seconds of solitude; they take them every night, replacing sleep with the other’s face.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	look at the light through the windowpane

She creeps down the hall, the moonlight shining a beacon on her body; the shadows of her movement make the darkness deeper.  She glitters in the dark: he has told her this, embracing before candlelight in some mockery of romance he wanted to try out.  He’d said it was ironic—just for laughs—but she’d caught the way he looked at her over those candles.  She wondered if he was expecting her to kiss him or start a conflagration.

They steal these moments together, these increasingly rare seconds of solitude; they take them every night, replacing sleep with the other’s face.  It’s the only time she’s ever seen him without his sunglasses.  He says he likes it because it’s the only time she shuts up.

His door is cracked.  She pushes it open quietly, so as not to wake his roommate.  (She keeps saying they should meet in _her_ room; her roommate is such a deep sleeper—but no, she has to put in all the effort.)  Their shades are pulled down.  There’s a puddle of moonlight on the floor—but only a little, not enough to light her way through the dark.

“Dave,” she whispers, the quiet name floating through the dark room, searching out its owner.  “ _Dave_.”

She’s pulled into the room suddenly by a rough pair of hands; the door shuts quickly behind her.  “Jesus, Rose, you’ll wake everyone up,” hisses a familiar voice.

She brushes his hands off.  “Excuse me for trying to find out if you were here as planned,” she snaps, still in a whisper.

He sighs and moves away, to the window; he pulls the shade up so that they can see the moon, full and fat in the dark, star-studded sky.  She looks over at his roommate’s bed: gone.  _Huh_.  But she doesn’t dwell on it further; he’s turning around, looking at her, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” she notes.

“It’s not like it would stay on all that long anyway.”  She can see the smirk on his face as he steps closer to her.

“How do you know that’s what I came here to do?” she says, crossing her arms.  “Maybe I just came here to talk.  To do homework.  To play a board game.”

The smirk’s still there as he slips his arms around her.  “What kind of game?”

“Chess, I think.”

“You’d make a good queen.”  His lips brush her neck; she doesn’t move.

“Which color?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”  But she drops her arms from over her chest and turns her face towards his.

“White,” he says, and though she can tell he put absolutely zero thought into the answer (as he does), she stiffens.

“No.  I’d be the black queen.  And you?”

“What?”

“What chess piece would you be?”

“I don’t fucking _know_ , Rose,” he says impatiently; he reaches up and cups her cheek, turning her so that she’ll look at him.  “It doesn’t _matter_.”

She snorts disdainfully—it does, she wants to say; if it doesn’t matter now someday it will—but she holds her tongue, and kisses him anyway.


End file.
